Virginia and the Department Store Santas.
By cb summers. Listen to the Podcast at Steamy Stories.
Why was I so sure Santa had a full head of hair? Maybe he wore that big pointy hat for a reason. Maybe my original instincts had been right, and now I’d rejected Santa twice! I had to find out for sure. So I went back to the street corner where he worked. There he was, ringing his bell, just as sexy as ever. I felt the same tingling in my nether regions as I’d felt before. I went up to him, and when he saw me he just about fell over.
“What the fuck are you doing here?”
I was surprised that Santa had a potty mouth.“I just wanted to…” but I couldn’t think of anything to say. So I jumped up into his arms and kissed him, breathing in his cinnamon smell again. But after a few seconds he pushed me back and held me at arm’s length, looking left and right nervously.
“Look, the other night… that was… fuckin’ amazing. But you should know… I’m a married man.”
“Of course you are,” I replied. “Everybody knows that. I just…” but I trailed off again. Nothing came to mind. So I tried to kiss him again, but this time he held me at bay with his bell.
He whispered under his breath, “Really, I can’t do it. I’d love to, don’t get me wrong. But I shouldn’t have done it in the first place. I mean, you’re a nice girl, I’m sure, but I love my wife. She’ll kill me if she so much as suspects I’ve been fuckin’ around. She’ll kill you too. So, do us both a favor and go find some other Santa Claus to screw.”
I looked at him, my eyes narrowing in suspicion. That didn’t sound much like Mrs. Claus. I doubted she could kill anyone. “I might just do that, Santa… if you really are Santa. I just want to ask you one question first. Do you like eggnog?”
“Do I what?”
What was he, deaf? “Do. You. Like. Egg. Nog?”
“Fuck no. Can’t stand the stuff.”
How disappointing.
But I took his advice and started checking out all the street corner Santas I could find. This was New York City. There was one on every corner. I looked at hundreds of Santas over the next couple of weeks, trying to be a little more circumspect than I’d been the last time. No, I didn’t fuck any of them. For one thing, most of them were obviously fake. Fake beards, fake bellies, fake ho, ho, ho’s. I could easily rule out Black Santas, Hispanic Santas, and Asian Santas. Not because I’m a racist… it’s just that Santa’s white. Everybody knows that.
But some of them had real beards. They were so cute! I didn’t think they were the real Santa, like I had the first guy, but I needed to be absolutely sure. So I got in the habit of kissing any street corner Santa who had a real beard. I’d just walk right up to them and plant my lips on theirs. I could usually tell right away that they were fake. But it wasn’t always that easy. On at least a dozen occasions I had to make out with a would-be Santa for a long time before making up my mind. Not that every Santa let me kiss them. I suppose some of those guys were gay, others shy, or maybe in love with their wives. But it was obvious to me that any Santa who didn’t want to kiss me just couldn’t possibly be the real deal. Anyway, none of those street corner Santas inspired me to take it farther than making out.
Well… that’s not true. I did give a double blowjob one night.
About three weeks before Christmas, I came across two very convincing Santas who were working right across the street from each other. They looked to be in their late sixties, early seventies and had long curly gray beards, little rosy cheeks, and twinkly eyes. Their Ho, ho, ho’s were impressive, easily cutting through the traffic noise. They were wearing identical suits… in fact; everything about them looked the same. I couldn’t decide which one was best, so I picked out one, totally at random, walked up to him and kissed him on the lips. He looked at me with surprise in his big blue eyes. But he kissed me back, not missing a beat. Maybe he’d heard stories about the notorious ‘Santa kisser’ that had made the evening news. He was a pretty good kisser. He smelled like he’d recently eaten a piece of pumpkin pie. Nice. I knew right away that he was the real Santa. I’d found him at last!
But then I thought about the other Santa across the street. He looked just like this one. Maybe I’d made another mistake. So I broke away, crossed the street and kissed the Santa Number Two. He reacted almost exactly like the Santa Number One and was just as good a kisser. This one was definitely the real Santa! I was certain of it! But…his eyes… his face… well, they were almost identical to Santa Number One. I felt intense confusion.
I went back across the street and kissed Santa Number One again, this time really making out with him, tongues entwining. He hugged me and I loved the feel of his flabby arms enveloping me. He even squeezed my ass, which made my pussy tingle. It felt like magic. After a nice long kiss, probably five minutes, I skipped back across the street to French-kiss Santa Number Two. By this time both of them were smiling, wondering what the hell was going on and where it all might lead.
Santa Number Two’s kiss was virtually indistinguishable from Santa Number One’s. The only discernible difference between them was that Santa Number Two smelled more like applesauce than pumpkin pie. But that wasn’t enough of a difference for me to decide between them. So I figured that it was better to be safe than sorry. I crossed back over to Santa Number One, took his gloved hand in mine, and started to pull him across the street.
“Whoa,” he said. “I can’t leave my donation box.”
“Gosh, Santa,” I said, “I was thinking about giving you a blow job. But if you’d rather not…”
“The hell with the donations”, he said, a definite Santa-like twinkle lighting up his old eyes.
I led him across the street to Santa Number Two and took his hand in my other hand. I started to lead them toward a nearby alley.
“Hey, what’s going on? I can’t leave my…”
“Trust me,” said Santa Number One, “Leave it. Just, leave it.”
I walked hand in hand… in hand with the two Santas into the alley. I stood them up against a brick wall between a couple of dumpsters. It doesn’t sound very romantic, but there was a nearby window rimmed with multicolored Christmas lights, illuminating everything with a magical colorful glow. I looked at their faces appraisingly. They really did look amazingly similar to each other, even from up close. One of these men was the real Santa; I knew it with all my heart, but which one? It was a real conundrum.
I kneeled on the snowy ground at their feet. Santa Number Two said, “What the hell…”
Santa Number One said, “Shhhh. Don’t fuck this up for me. Oh… fuck.”
He said that last bit because I had pulled his pants and tidy whities down with a nice solid yank. Then I pulled the Santa Number Two’s pants down. They both had long red coats on, so I tucked the fuzzy white tails up into their big black belts, so that I could compare their penises without anything hanging in the way. Number Two’s penis was not visible at all, actually. It was turtled back in his fatty balls. But Santa Number One’s penis was already emerging from hibernation and getting larger and longer by the second, probably because he’d had longer to think about what I was going to do to him than Number Two.
I took Santa Number One’s cock into my mouth first. It was so tiny, my chin was buried in his balls, and his big belly was resting on top of my head. But I felt him growing against my tongue, and fast! I’d never sucked a guy before, although I’d seen pictures and movies. But seeing and doing are two different animals. I sucked and slurped and was amazed at how fast his cock was getting harder and longer and fatter. It was doubling then quadrupling in size. It was magical. I took Santa Number Two’s teeny little wiener in my fingertips, and he too started growing and hardening. It was quite fascinating. When Number One was about five inches long, I switched to sucking Number Two and enjoyed the sensation of his cock swelling in my mouth just like Number One’s had. I could actually feel the warm blood coursing into it from his excited body.
After a minute or two, I went back to sucking Santa Number One, and now he was rock hard and almost seven inches long, but still growing. What an amazing transformation! I felt Number Two’s cock hardening to exactly the same length in my hand. When they were both as hard and as long as they were ever gonna be, I took another look. Freaky. They had the same exact cock. Not just the same size (almost eight inches), but the same pattern of veins ran down their shafts in the same places. And boy, were they beautiful. Although these guys had wrinkly faces their cocks were smooth and sleek. There was nothing old about that part of their anatomy (except the white curly hairs that surrounded them).
Santa Number One was impatiently watching me just look at his cock, so he grabbed my short black hair and pushed himself into my mouth again. I looked up at him with my elfin eyes, and he looked down at me over his belly, and I felt an amazing rush. I was sucking Santa Claus’s dick! It’s something I’d dreamed about many times, and now I was actually doing it! Then I felt Santa Number Two poking his dick against my cheek so I went back to sucking him for a while. Looking up at his intense, jolly, wrinkly, fat, old face, I was certain that I was sucking the real Santa’s cock… but the other Santa was just as real to me! It was really quite trippy. I started going back and forth between their warm, steamy cocks, giving each one maybe three or four sucks while jerking the other one with my hand. I did this in the fairest way possible because I wouldn’t want to offend the real Santa by showing too much attention to the fake Santa. It was fun, actually, trying to keep them both excited at the same time.
It was a cold night. Steamy clouds illuminated by colorful Christmas lights were billowing out of my nose and mouth and dancing around their slick wet cocks. It was a beautiful sight. I felt so much love flowing through me, I began to hum, 'Oh, Holy Night’ as I sucked Santa and/or Santa. Their facial expressions were so tense, but so full of joy, I was sure that, regardless of anything else, I was finally showing my appreciation to my lifelong hero.
I kept picking up the pace and intensity, bit by bit, minute after minute, until they were groaning and having trouble staying on their feet from pleasure. Toward the end I was just giving each one a single deep and powerful suck before switching to the other, all the while jerking them strongly with my hands which were lubricated with the copious amounts of saliva I was drooling all over them. Both Santas grabbed the top of my head at the same time, and their bodies went stiff. I felt the cum shooting up through their cocks with my hands and then…
Santa Number Two was the winner! He came about five seconds before Santa Number One. When he began to spurt, I took his cock in my mouth and felt the unique and wonderful sensation of cum slogging against my tongue. I tried to hold it all in, not wanting to spill any of it on my nice new sweater. But I forgot about Santa Number One. I was still jerking him so he suddenly came all over the side of my face and hair. I turned to put him in my mouth before he splashed me again, but then Santa Number Two spurted again, painting the other side of my face. It was dripping off me, all over my new sweater. But I thought, ah, what the heck. That’s what dry cleaners are for. So I just jerked them both, aiming their quivering cocks at my face. I squeezed out a couple more jets of white stuff, opening my pretty mouth wide to catch as much as possible. I got some of it, but for the most part they frosted me like a freshly baked cinnamon roll.
When I was done, I swallowed their cum… but it didn’t taste particularly Christmassy. I had no better idea who the real Santa was than before. Sure, Number Two had cum sooner, but actually, it seemed like Santa Number One had cum a little more. But then again, what does any of that prove? I couldn’t think of a single Christmas carol about Santa’s semen skills.
So I looked at them, my hands holding their dripping cocks, my elfin face and short hair zigzagged with streaks of shiny white goo and asked, “So, do either one of you like eggnog?”
That really tickled them. They laughed their jolly laughs and said simultaneously, with the same voice, “I love eggnog!”
“Boy. You Santas could almost be twins.”
They looked at each other, then down at me and said, at the same time, “We are twins.”
“Dang it!” I yelled. I stood up and threw my arms up in the air in frustration. “Santa doesn’t have a twin brother! Dang it! Dang it! So, that means… what? Neither of you is the real Santa?” I kicked over a trashcan, sending the contents flying, “I just blew two fake Santas at the same time? Oh that’s just great!”
They looked at me with growing concern on their faces. They nervously pulled their pants back up and began to back away from me, toward the street.
“What does a girl have to do to find the real Santa Claus?” I shouted angrily to the heavens. Then I gave out a little roar of frustration. Okay, it was a big roar of frustration. What can I say? I was frustrated! When I looked again, the twin fake Santas were gone, leaving me dripping with cum, but totally Santa less.
I should let you know that experiences like this weren’t as depressing as you might think. Oh, it was a sore disappointment that neither of them turned out to be the real Santa, but I took consolation in the fact that I’d given two nice old guys a fabulous memory to look back on. And I absolutely loved every second of it. That’s how it is with sex addicts. The sex is always enjoyable. It’s just the consequences that suck. The consequence for me was that one day instead of going to work, I went Santa-hunting and never went back. I had a lot of money saved up, but I didn’t know how long it would last. New York is an expensive city to live in.
But I tried not to think about that and kept looking for Santa. And a few more days of finding only shabby street Santas, I started thinking maybe I was setting my sights too low. Maybe I needed to check out department store Santas. I don’t know why I didn’t think of it sooner. I remembered they had some really believable ones at the store I worked at when I was nineteen. So I did a little recon and was happy with what I found. Those guys almost always had real beards and jolly faces and bowls full of jelly and all the rest of it. But I couldn’t just walk up to them and kiss them. They were surrounded with kids, elves, photographers, and store managers.
So I would wait in line with the kids, and when it was my turn I’d sit on Santa’s lap.
“Well, if it isn’t little Virginia!” he’d sometimes say, magically knowing my name without me even telling him.
And then he almost always said, “And how are you today, little girl?” even though it was obvious I wasn’t all that little.
I’d always say something like, “I just wanted to apologize for doubting you, Santa. I should have baked those cookies for you last Christmas Eve. I know how much you look forward to them every year. If you can find it in your heart to forgive me, I’ll never forget again.”
Sometimes Santa would say, “Oh, don’t worry about it. Mrs. Claus thinks I eat too many cookies as it is! Ho! Ho! Ho!” or something like that.
There was always a long line of kids behind me, so I had to decide fast whether he was the real Santa or not. Usually, it boiled down to whether he knew my name without me having to tell him.
Eventually, each one would say, “Now tell me what you want for Christmas, Virginia?”
If he was fake, I’d say, “Please convey my apologies to the real Santa, if you see him.”
But if he was the real Santa, I’d lean in way close and whisper into his ear, “What I want for Christmas is for you to fuck me Santa. Tonight. My place. Wear your Santa Suit.”
Then I’d kiss his ear, slipping my tongue inside to make sure he knew I wasn’t kidding around. Then I’d press a little Christmas card into his hand, which contained my address, name and phone number, as well as a photo of me holding my skirt up, exposing my pussy, just so he knew I wasn’t a cop or something.
It didn’t always work out as planned. During the period I was vetting department store Santas, I chose ten true Santas. Of those, three never contacted me. A fourth Santa totally freaked out, called store security and had me ejected from the premises. But six other department store Santas… well, they were lonely oldish fat guys, who’d never been propositioned by a skinny little hottie like me. They couldn’t pass up the opportunity.
But I didn’t think about it that way at the time. Each and every time I thought I’d finally found the real Santa, and each and every time I believed that he and I had made a real connection.
Sam once told me that the definition of insanity is doing the same stupid thing again and again expecting different results. But Sam’s a Grinch. I’m not insane. I’m an optimist! What’s wrong with that?
So, I had sex of one sort or another with six department store Santas, but it wasn’t all wham bam, thank you ma'am. No, I put on Christmas music and baked cookies for them, and if they were nice, we’d make out and I’d give them a blowjob or handjob or maybe even jump their bones, always with me on top and fully clothed (except for panties). I was too shy to let Santa see my breasts. After he ejaculated on me or in me, I’d always offer to make dinner for him. At some point in every evening I would realize that this man wasn’t the real Santa after all. I tried to cover my disappointment with a smile; I would never be rude to a guest. Sometimes after dinner they wanted to have sex again, and if they were nice enough about it and had been considerate enough to wear their Santa suit, I’d comply, though with a bit less enthusiasm. But I never accepted an invitation for a second date. I wasn’t a slut, after all!
All this time I’d been working my way from store to store. My final stop was… well, the terms of the gag order prohibit me from naming the place… But if you’ve ever seen a particular movie about a particular Santa who works at a particular New York department store and goes on trial to prove he’s the real Santa, well you probably know which store I’m referring to. The Santa there is reputed to be the one true Santa! I went there Christmas Eve afternoon knowing that it would be my last chance this year to find the real Santa. I was feeling very optimistic.
Santa’s North Pole takes up the entire eighth floor of the department store. The waiting line is a long, winding path through a fantasyland of beautifully lit Christmas scenes with cheerful music playing and happy helpful 'elves’ capering about. It really got me into the Christmas spirit, I guess, because by the time I had my turn with Santa, my panties were dripping wet, and I was panting with lust.
I was ushered by an elf into a small, decorated room, in which Santa was sitting on a glittery red, white, and gold throne. Oh. My. God. He was beautiful!!! Like a radiant messiah dressed in holiday style. He had a lush, velvety red Santa suit. His face was glowing with youth, yet wrinkled with wisdom. His eyes were full of ancient knowledge, yet sparkling with childlike mischief. His booming laugh was the sound of love itself. He welcomed me with open arms.
“Ho, Ho, Ho, Virginia! It’s been ages since I saw you last!”
My heart was aflutter. He was better, realer, and more magical than any of those fake Santas. This was really, truly, the one and only Kris Kringle himself!
There was one other person in the room with us, a female elf about college age, who offered to take pictures if I’d brought a camera. I pretended that I’d misplaced my purse. I must have dropped it in the line. Maybe she could go look for it for me? She was so helpful. What a sweetie. She left me alone with Santa. I locked the door behind her, but quietly so Santa wouldn’t notice.
I hopped up on his lap. I put one hand nonchalantly on his inner thigh. My hand was only inches from his Santahood, and my fingers tingled with the knowledge that his sex was so close. So deliciously close. I looked up at him with doe eyes and giggled like a kid. I sucked my thumb shyly, oozing innocence. He was looking at me with a weird expression. He couldn’t tell how to read me. I was obviously in my late twenties, but why was I acting so coy? Was I just fucking with him, or was I trying to seduce him? He didn’t know, but I could definitely see interest in his eyes.
Santa made clever small talk, much cleverer than any of the other Santas and happily played along with my little girl act while trying to pretend he didn’t notice my tight little ass on his knee or the way my hand kept squeezing his upper thigh whenever I giggled. I wondered if he could tell I wasn’t wearing any underwear. I enjoyed feeling the softness of his velvety trousers on my pussy lips. I babbled to him in kid talk, all the while bopping my legs in a ridiculous parody of a child. I could feel him getting a little uncomfortable with my increasingly obvious efforts at seduction. He tried to shift his weight to get his crotch further back from my hand, but I just reached farther under his belly until the edge of my hand was pressing into the side of his growing erection.
“Uh, Santa’s getting a little uncomfortable, Virginia. Maybe you could stand for a while.”
“Okay Santa, I stand up.” I said with an obscenely cute little giggle. Then I put my hands on his shoulders and pulled myself up so I was standing with my feet on top of his knees. By that time I’d kicked off my shoes. He didn’t know what to do. I basically had my crotch a few inches above his face.
“Oh, look Santa,” I said and then pulled the front of my skirt up, so he could see through his little round glasses that I wasn’t wearing any panties. He was looking right at my totally shaven pussy, which was open and glistening wet. His eyes opened wide. He backed up into his chair, but he couldn’t take his eyes off the delicate flower hovering temptingly just a few inches from his cherry red nose. He froze. Stunned. His arms were sticking straight out to the left and right. He didn’t know what to do with them.
“Kiss me, Santa. Kiss me on the lips,” I whined petulantly. I’d never done this with a Santa before, but there was something special about this one. I moved my pussy closer to his face until he could smell the cinnamon scented perfume I’d anointed myself with. The fold on top of my clitoris touched his nose, but he didn’t kiss me, so I put one foot up on his shoulder and pressed my pussy fully into his face. I could feel the tingly softness of his moustache on my labia. He groaned a deep lingering groan that vibrated into the depths of my vagina. His tense body relaxed, and a moment later I felt his tongue slip inside me. It was a transcendent moment of pure bliss. He began licking and lapping me, and now his gloved hands were on my naked ass, and now they were running up under my sweater to cup my breasts (I wasn’t wearing a bra this time). Oh, boy, I loved the sensation of those soft leather gloves on my naked flesh. They had fur cuffs that tickled my belly as he fondled me.
His tongue, his long thick tongue, was deep inside me. He began nodding, so his rosy red nose could flick my clitoris. Oh, Santa. So wise in the ways of love. I knew he was an ancient soul, perhaps thousands of years old. I guess you can learn a lot if you have that much time to practice.
I felt a wave of pleasure so intense and overwhelming that I began to moan, “Oh fuck! Santa! Lick my pussy! Lick my wet pussy! Oh fuck yeah!!!” I was no longer pretending to be a little girl. I was a woman. I got louder and louder until my voice morphed into wordless shrieks of orgasmic ecstasy.
I heard the elves pounding at the door. I knew I was running out of time so I hopped off his legs onto the floor. I pulled and yanked at his pants. It made his butt slide forward to the front of the throne. The pants must have been a little loose, because they slid right off, exposing his ten-inch cock. It was so pale, it seemed to emit a magical glow.
He looked down at me, proud to show me his cock. His sweet old face now had an expression of pure carnal desire. He said, “What do you want for Christmas, little girl?”
I hopped sideways onto Santa’s lap and said, “I want you to fuck me, Santa!”
He lifted me with one arm under the small of my back and the other under my thighs. Then he lowered me onto his big hard cock with his strong, sure hands, finding my pussy with the first try.
“Fuck!” he yelled hoarsely as his cock entered me. He was so big and long! I was so tight! But we fit together perfectly.
“Oh!” I moaned, feeling every inch of him penetrate me. Then he began to lift me up and down on his cock. So strong! So sure! I lifted my sweater up to my chin so Santa could see my tits bounce as he fucked me. I hadn’t shown them to any of the other Santas. But I wanted this Santa, the truly real and only Santa, to see every inch of me. He looked down at my perky, round breasts, his eyes wild with lust. He leaned forward and took my hard nipple into his mouth. The feel of his beard tickling my skin drove me wild. All the time he was impaling me on his cock with amazing strength, as if I were weightless.
“Oh shit,” I groaned loudly, “Fuck me, Santa! Fuck my tight little pussy! Oh god, your cock is so big! Oh god, oh god, oh god… I’m cumming! I’m cumming!”
I trembled in the most powerful orgasm of my life (up to that time), and he kept fucking me, ignoring the pounding of the elves. The door started to bend, but it held.
He shouted, “No, don’t come in! I’m perfectly fine! Go away!”
He stood up and put my feet on the seat of the throne with my back to him. I crouched down, offering him my pretty little tushie. I was just low enough for his cock to slide up into my pussy. Oh god, he felt twice as long this way! The head of Santa’s cock reached all the way into me and pressed against my womb. It hurt, but I could barely feel the pain through the haze of pleasure that filled my body from head to toe. And now he began thrusting himself in and out of me with an ancient power he must have inherited from the gods of old. He had one strong hand on my shoulder, the other on my waist. He fucked me with growing speed and firmness, and within half a minute, he shot the magic of Christmas deep inside me.
“Oh yeah, Santa, fill me up! Fill me up with your sperm!! I want to have your babies!!!!”
I think that last statement may have shocked him back to his senses. Either that or the act of cumming did the trick. Either way, he let go of me, stumbled backwards, tripped on his own drawers and fell sprawling on his back. Cum was still shooting out of his cock.
That’s when the elves broke open the door. There were four or five of them, with a couple of female security guards right behind. They saw everything, including Santa’s naked cock shooting a jet of semen two feet into the air. And there I was, a young slip of a thing, standing with my back to him on the throne, torso turned watching him fall. My sweater and skirt were still pulled up, so the elves pretty much saw everything I’d been hiding from people most of my life.
I don’t know about you, but if I saw a scene like that, it would inspire years of masturbation fantasies. Not nightmares, like the elves later said in their depositions.
But things were about to get worse… I was staring down at Santa, his head scrunched uncomfortably against the far wall. To my shock and massive disappointment, I could see the fat pad sticking out from under the tails of his red velvet coat. And I could see his real belly button. He was thin, with ripped abdominal muscles. Then I noticed how trim and muscular his legs were. And his silvery beard… it was peeling off around the edges.
Dang. I didn’t even need to give him the eggnog test. He was obviously a fake. His hair and beard and glowing skin were just makeup. And the dignity, wisdom and magic he had been exuding when I first entered the room were just parts of a practiced performance that he’d run on a million kids and adults before me. This guy wasn’t old, fat, or wise! He was the worst fake of all. And I’d told this joker that I wanted to have his babies! I was disgusted! Well… not entirely. He’d fucked me better than any of them (my pussy zinged for hours afterwards). Still, I felt betrayed by the whole Christmas industry, which had tricked me into thinking this young college thespian was the real Santa.
I pulled down my sweater and skirt. The Christmas party was over.
To be continued..
By cb summers for Literotica
